Ignorance is.

Whoever said “ignorance is bliss” is either one with a stone heart or one with no heart at all.  It’s not that they don’t know, it’s that they choose not to know.  Those are two different things, and at times I wish I could have the former.  It’s probably why I can never find myself knowing someone so much, except for friends.  It’s because at some point knowing leads to attachment, and attachment leads to–well, you know, where it leads to.

Sometimes, I wish I didn’t ask.  I wish I didn’t ask about how your day was, how you’ve been doing, and how you feel about certain things.  I wish I didn’t even have the guts to know you in general, because you could have been someone I only knew by name, and not someone whose name I knew would come up in moments, in objects, in emotions.  What good can I get from unknowing you? A lot of good.  A lot of good, indeed.  I wish I knew how to unknow you, I wish I knew how to detach, I wish I knew.

And yet all the more in ignorance, I want to know.  I want to know how your day is going, how happy you’ve been lately, how school’s been treating you, how everything’s crashing down or going up.  I want to know if you think of me, if you care as much as I do, if you knew the way I wanted you to know, if you knew the truth woven intricately in the lies I tell you in an effort to unknow.

With you, I end my sentences with question marks.  I wish I could declare with the certainty of a period, or the fluidity of a comma, or the excitement of an exclamation point.  At points in our togetherness, we have come across these punctuations.  But at the end of the day, I still have so many I want to know.

How are you?
How do you know?
What do you know?
Could you stay?
Do you remember?
Do you feel the way I do?

And as always, the answers never arrive.  It’s because I am up to the brim with you.  I am up to the brim with questions I am dying for you to answer, I am up to the brim with answers from you.  What am I to you?

I wish I were certain.  I wish I didn’t have to know so much, but I do.  I know so much to the point of it spilling out as I etch into a new day.  You’re still here today, yesterday, tomorrow. Even if I shut my eyes as light pools onto the floor, it’s like you never left.

And I wish you left. I wish I were ignorant when it came to you.  But no, you have given me so much of yourself for me to forget, and in unknowing I remember you, and how much of myself you have found in my attempt to lose you.

How do you lose someone without saying goodbye?

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